Uninvited Guests
by Hutchie
Summary: Humour; contains feline s , Bodie, and Doyle.


Idea used with permission from Jaicen. I got this idea from her story "Bit By Bit."

With Britishness beta thanks to Maggenpie! :)

**Uninvited Guests**

by Allie

The sleek black cat appeared one morning on Doyle's doorstep. It peered up at him with wide, dark blue eyes, and came in when he opened the door to get the milk, inviting itself into his life as if it had always belonged there.

"Little beggar," said Doyle, torn between amusement and exasperation as the sturdy black tomcat strode across his kitchen floor, looking around as though trying to decide whether or not he approved of Doyle's furnishings.

It was a sleek cat, obviously male and apparently in good health. He didn't know why a big cat like that would need to beg. Probably caught all the mice it could possibly eat. The cat was thick with muscle, and its coat was shiny and healthy. A cat like that probably belonged to someone, or could at least take quite good care of itself.

"Suppose you want some milk, then." Doyle smiled down at the overly familiar animal and poured a bit of his milk into a saucer for it. He set it on the floor. The cat lunged for it, inhaled the milk, and looked up, its chin spotted with milk. It licked its lips and looked at Doyle quite pointedly. He laughed aloud and poured it a little more. "Suppose you'll be by every day now," he said, stepping around it to get his coffee. He couldn't summon the will to feel annoyed, however. Some days it would be nice to be greeted, even by a cat.

Doyle would probably be moving soon anyway, and then it would have to return to its rightful home. Till then, he could spare a little extra milk. When Bodie wasn't slurping down loads of it in his tea, Doyle always had more than enough.

And Bodie hadn't been around much lately cadging tea and biccies, carrying on about what a slob Doyle was or what unsophisticated foods he ate—and then suggesting they pop out for a spot of fish and chips, with that wickedly innocent gleam in his eyes.

True, they had been busy with work lately, but that usually didn't stop Bodie from demanding a drink at the pub or following Doyle home to raid his refrigerator. Lately, however, he'd been—almost evasive when Doyle asked if he wanted a drink or a cup of tea. Doyle wasn't worried, or even particularly annoyed. It was simply unlike Bodie. He'd wait it out; Bodie always did come around, but you couldn't pry things out of him. It didn't work, and sometimes it made Bodie really angry if you tried.

Doyle remembered the time he'd been serious, instead of just joking when he asked Bodie about his past as a mercenary. All expression had gone out of Bodie's face, and his eyes... He'd never seen Bodie so dangerous-looking as when he lost all expression, and his eyes looked like that: like flat, metal coins.

"Leave it, mate," he'd said in a low voice, and Doyle had left it, forever after. He would leave Bodie his privacy as well, if that was what he wanted. Even if it did make Doyle into such a wet sop that he'd practically adopt the first obnoxious, overbearing stray that came his way.

He smiled down at the intruder, and shook his head at his own foolishness. Then he poured some milk in his coffee and opened the fridge to put it away. The cat slipped between his ankles and stared up into the fridge. Its eyes seemed to gleam. Doyle could've sworn it would've rubbed its paws together in glee if it could've.

"Uh—no you don't, mate. That burger is for my dinner, not yours." He caught the cat before it could attack the fridge and carried it away. Its strong, thick tail lashing against his arm. It had giant paws, but kept its claws in. Dark fur was surprisingly soft, even silky to the touch. The cat made a sound of annoyance and tried to twist free. Doyle carried it firmly and set it down outside the front door. "No getting in the fridge." He shook his finger at it.

The cat lashed its tail once more, then something caught its attention and it went bounding off. Doyle shook his head. Nice while it lasted, but you couldn't have a wild beast in the house like that. Stealing all his food. Honestly, the thing was as greedy as—

Doyle shut the door behind the cat, ate his breakfast, and got ready for work. He was finishing his toast and pulling on his jacket when Bodie's Capri pulled up outside.

"You're early," said Doyle, locking the door and taking the steps two at a time down to his partner.

Bodie smirked proudly and gave a nod. "Got a new alarm clock. I'm making you look tardy, mate."

"Yeah, yeah." Doyle waved away the suggestion and plopped into the passenger's seat.

As Bodie floored it and began to accelerate down the street, Doyle caught a glimpse of the black cat running blithely along the top of a neighbouring roof and leaping to another. Little acrobat. Doyle half wanted to smile, half to cringe at such foolhardy stunts. But surely the animal knew what it was doing. Such supreme confidence didn't come about by accident.

#

"Drink?" asked Doyle, slouching down in his seat and trying to look casual.

"No, I've got to get home." Bodie drove intently. Doyle sat up and looked at him. "Uh—" Bodie glanced over and seemed to realise what he'd said. "Uh—I mean—"

Doyle gave him a lazy grin. "Got someone waiting, have you?"

"'Course I have, mate," said Bodie in a lazy, pleased voice.

But there was no mistaking the flicker of relief that crossed his face. Hah! He was up to something. Doyle crossed his arms and watched his partner, a smirk playing on his mouth. "Yeeeahh," said Doyle. "'Course you have, mate."

The he slumped down and dozed in the car, until Bodie prodded him to get out at his apartment. He certainly was in a hurry to get home. If it wasn't a girlfriend, then why?

Maybe it was his mother visiting! Or some other relative he wasn't yet willing for Doyle to meet. Doyle held back a bubble of laughter at the thought.

Bodie, embarrassed about his past, not quite trusting Doyle yet to have access to anyone who'd known him growing up...

Oh, this would be lovely fun. Doyle would 'happen' to show up at the door and meet the family. He stood on his steps and waved innocently to Bodie, his eyes wide, holding back his smirk. Bodie gave him a preoccupied, suspicious look, then reversed down the drive and accelerated away. Certainly he was preoccupied. Though one would hardly think he'd be in a hurry to get home to relatives. Unless he thought they'd burn the place down!

Doyle took the steps up to his place two at a time, let himself in—the black cat slipped past him, a long streak of dark fur. He grimaced and then shrugged. Well, let it stay a bit. No harm done. Doyle grabbed some yoghurt from his fridge and ate it without sitting down. The cat gave him an enthusiastic, tail-lashing look, and blinked its, big dark-blue eyes once, slowly.

"Beggar," said Doyle affectionately. He got the milk out.

A few minutes later, he was showering carefully, not wetting his hair because it would take too long to dry. He emerged from the shower, reaching for his towel—and almost jumped out of his skin. The cat—it was sitting on the closed toilet seat, watching with interest whatever mysterious occurrence had been taking place behind the curtain.

"Listening to me whistle, were you?" asked Doyle. But he couldn't help smiling at the nosy beast as he dried off. He dressed carefully, wearing his nicest slacks, a red button-up shirt and a dinner jacket. Add aviator sunglasses, silver chain round his neck and his nicest shoes, and he was ready to go.

"Come on, mate," he said, scooping the cat up and holding it carefully away from him so it wouldn't get black hairs all over his clothes.

"Meow!" complained the cat, lashing its tail up against Doyle's arm with a steady thump, almost wrapping it round him.

"I'll feed you again later," Doyle found himself promising. "Now don't complain. We've only met, eh? You can't stay the night right away."

The cat flopped down on the step as soon as Doyle put him down. Lying on his side, he licked one front leg with an air of unconcern, as though to say he certainly did not care what Doyle did. He seemed to convey the impression that Doyle could keep his stupid apartment for all he cared.

"Said I'd feed you later, cat," said Doyle, bending down to give the head a quick rub before walking past. The cat flopped back on its back, belly exposed, and reached up with its paws, claws still carefully sheathed. Surprisingly strong, the big, square paws wrapped around Doyle's wrist and pulled his hand back down.

"Whoa." Doyle chuckled. "Let me go, old boy."

The cat flagrantly squirmed, displaying a rather chubby, very soft-looking belly.

"You're spoiled, you are. All right." He reached his other hand down and rubbed the belly. The cat immediately released him and writhed some more, setting up a loud purr that sounded halfway between a broken van engine and a modified motorboat.

At last Doyle broke away and went to his car. The cat watched him, but no longer tried to follow. Its tail thump, thump, thumped on the walk. Did cats wag their tails like dogs? Doyle was pretty certain that they didn't, but the tail certainly meant something.

He dusted the cat hairs off his jacket and got in his car.

Finally, time to meet some of the mysterious Bodie clan! Bodie always made out he was an orphan or something. Ah, wouldn't he look when Doyle found him out?

If Bodie should seem annoyed, he would pretend he was on his way to a date and happened to remember something he needed to ask.

Doyle was trying not to grin when he arrived, and resolutely pushing back the worry that Bodie would be angry with him for stopping by. He walked up the steps and knocked lightly.

Nothing.

He knocked again.

"I'm coming. I'm coming," grumbled an annoyed-sounding Bodie. "What's the hurry?"

From inside, he heard—a loud, aggravated meow. Doyle blinked.

The door jerked open and Bodie frowned out at him. "What's the—" He blinked as well. "Doyle." For a moment he looked utterly, utterly blank.

Doyle stared past him, and his mouth may have gaped just a bit. There was a cat standing on the kitchen floor, its tail lashing, giving Doyle a black look. There was no doubt it knew who had interrupted things, and had no fond words to say about Doyle. And there was no doubt that the tail wagging meant annoyance when this cat did it.

"Hello, puss," said Doyle, hoping to brazen it out by not acting surprised, and most of all not laughing. He didn't want Bodie's blank look to turn cold and icy. He ducked past Bodie and held a hand out to the slim cat regarding him in an unfriendly manner.

"Raawr!" The sound was hard to describe, but sounded halfway like a broken refrigerator and chalk squealing on a board.

"Yeow!" Doyle jerked back, his hand bleeding. "Bloody hell! Not very friendly, is he?"

"Serves you right for startling him," said Bodie, moving towards the cat. It had somehow, in a split second flat, landed five feet back and on the kitchen table, still eying Doyle and still lashing its tail. Its tail and the fur along its back and had fuzzed up. To Doyle, it looked not so much startled as mad and mean.

"_Me_ startle _him_? It's a mad beast. Probably rabid," growled Doyle, yanking a kitchen towel off the stove and wrapping it round his hand, glaring at Bodie, who was now petting the cat.

The cat might have been better looking if it wasn't angry: might, but Doyle had his doubts. Its fur was scruffy-looking, extra long and fluffy, making the cat look larger when it fuzzed up. The fur itself was a brownish muddled with gray, a singularly unattractive coat. The cat's green eyes snapped fire and wrath, and at least enough wrath for several of the horsemen of the apocalypse.

"Call him Little Devil, do you?" asked Doyle.

Bodie gave one slow, offended blink and picked the creature up in his arms. Doyle expected him to drop it an instant later and yelp, but the creature settled in his arms equitably, still giving Doyle the evil eye.

"Never mind, mate," said Bodie to the cat. "He won't hurt you. It's only old Ray." He stroked the cat till its fur began to flatten. "Nosy old Ray." He walked past into the next room, giving Doyle a pointed look as he went.

Doyle followed. "Hang about. I was only—"

"Only couldn't mind your own business. You're worse than a cat, mate. Least they have an excuse for being too curious."

"It's only a cat. Nothing to hide," said Doyle, thinking of his own interloper.

"Oh yes? Well what did you think it was, then? All dressed up, aren't you?" He turned slowly, giving Doyle the slow once over, taking in the fine gradations of his clothing and shoes. He raised his nose slightly and gave one, slow sniff. "Even showered, didn't you?"

"Well, I thought—might be some of your family," admitted Doyle.

Bodie stared at him a moment in disbelief. Then slowly he began to grin. He petted the cat harder, and it turned and slapped him with one small paw. "Ah. Watch it, sunshine." He looked down at the cat, but adjusted his touch much lighter. The cat settled back into his arms, its green eyes squinting halfway shut, its tail moving at a slower, metronome-like rate now.

"So he adopted you, did he?" asked Doyle, feeling obliged to move the conversation along.

Bodie shrugged broad shoulders, trying to look casual, though he seemed very pleased with himself. A smile tugged at his mobile mouth. "Seemed hungry," said Bodie. "Didn't like to think of it being hungry. Such a scrawny thing, always looks half starved. Should hear him meow in the morning, Ray. Never heard such a loud, creaky cat. Could win awards for it, this little man."

"Your new alarm clock," said Doyle, with dawning comprehension.

Bodie nodded, his eyes squinting briefly in happiness. "He's a bit picky, but I've found some things he can't resist eating. Has eggs with me in the morning, and he likes fresh cream and any kind of tinned fish."

"Oh, well, as long as you can coax the little dear not to starve himself."

Bodie cast him a reproachful look. "There you are now, see, I knew you'd make jokes as soon as you knew! First time I show myself to be an animal lover, and you have to start!"

"Well I didn't expect—never mind, old son," said Doyle hastily. "Just seems a bit spoiled to me." He thought of his own interloper. "A cat should be friendly, and eat whatever you offer."

Bodie shrugged. "Just got good taste, I guess."

"Like you, I suppose?" Doyle tossed back. He returned to the kitchen and washed his bleeding hand at the sink. It wasn't too bad. A two-plaster job, but he'd be all right. He held up his still bleeding hand. "But if Cowley asks how I got this, I'll tell him it's your cat's fault, mate!"

Bodie smirked back, and set his cat down on the kitchen counter. Now completely ignoring Doyle, it sprang light-footed and agile up onto the windowsill and peered out, sniffing the air. Its fur did look particularly soft and touchable, but Doyle certainly wasn't reaching out to touch it again.

"Get me your plasters," ordered Doyle, and Bodie went without argument. While he was gone, Doyle regarded the cat. "You're not scratching him. I'd have noticed if he was covered in plasters. And you're getting him up early—even making him cook a decent breakfast. Suppose you can't be all bad."

The cat turned from looking out the window and regarded him. Its changeable eyes had a speculative look, as though it were weighing Doyle up just as much, in its own cat way. For a moment, the man and the cat regarded each other. "Mrreow," it said in a low throaty voice, then turned back and stared out the window again, its tail wagging gently side to side as it spotted a little sparrow.

"'Ello 'ello," said Bodie, returning as silent as a cat. He was grinning. "Let's see the war wound, old son."

"Can do it myself," said Doyle, attempting to grab the plasters. Bodie had brought four of them.

"Ahh, the poor invalid couldn't possibly manage a big bandage with one hand!" Bodie kept them out of his reach. Doyle lunged for them.

Then, because he didn't want to risk bleeding on his good jacket and shirt, he gave in. "All right, all right," he grumbled, surrendering his hand. Bodie plastered him carefully and mockingly, making it into a big production, and then said that Doyle might as well stay for a meal. Bodie had bought extra steak, because he thought the cat might be hungry.

Doyle laughed, but he did stay, and kept the teasing to an absolute minimum. He was fairly certain that his own uninvited guest would continue inviting itself in, and one of these days, Bodie was going to see the black cat and give him a ribbing if Doyle teased him now.

"You do spoil him," said Doyle, brushing the tail out of his face for the third time this evening. The cat was walking back and forth across the table, just 'happening' to rub its tail in Doyle's face each time.

"C'mere, mate." Bodie reached for the cat, plopped it on his lap, and offered it an obscenely large chunk of steak. The cat put its paws on the table and chewed possessively, making a sound halfway between a contented growl and a hum as it chewed, staring pointedly across at Doyle.

"Thinks he's a bloody king," said Doyle, shaking his head and popping another bite of steak into his own mouth. "Mm. This is a little tough, mate. Think you need to work on your cooking technique."

"Watch it, Ungrateful. I'll sic my attack cat on you."

The cat gave a happy little growl and continued to chew.

Doyle shook his head slowly, wondering what Bodie saw in such an obstinate, ill-tempered, scruffy little thing. It would certainly be tempting to tease him mercilessly, if it weren't for the black cat waiting impatiently at his own flat.

Instead, he played the nice guest, kept the teasing and pointed remarks to a minimum, and even stayed to watch part of the game, till he found himself yawning uncontrollably and said goodnight, leaving Bodie comfortably ensconced with a cat on his lap and a lager in his hand, sitting very still and keeping his cheering at a minimum so as not to wake the animal.

Doyle couldn't help shaking his head and smiling at this new evidence that his partner had a soft centre somewhere beneath the hard man exterior. Bodie might not want any of the men at CI5 to know it, but he loved that little animal. It might not last; he'd get bored, or the cat would move on in its wandering, ill-tempered life. But for now—well, good for Bodie.

#

"Well well WELL!" crowed Bodie in a very pleased voice, rising on the last word. "Following my lead, old son?" He bent to peer at the large black cat that had come running out of the bushes and was now waiting eagerly at the door while Doyle used his keys.

"Yeah, yeah. He just showed up, started drinking my extra milk."

"Your extra milk? Thought that was my job?" Bodie tried to look at Doyle at the same time he was bending sideways to pet the cat. The black cat, who had so far shown himself nothing but friendly, tried to slink away from the touch, moving closer to Doyle. The cat's back twitched as though something repulsive had touched it. It rubbed against Doyle.

Finally the door was open, and it streaked inside, deposited itself by the fridge and gave Doyle an eager, pointed look.

"Aww, is snookums hungry?" asked Bodie.

Doyle cast him a glare. "You're one to talk. At least I don't buy him special steak! He eats whatever I have."

"Bet he doesn't eat chips," said Bodie, putting both hands on his sides and smirking at Doyle.

"He does. Fresh or cold. Can't leave anything out around him. He's like a vacuum cleaner. Nothing in the world he won't eat, I bet. He also beats up dogs, chases female cats recklessly, and has mysterious comings and goings. Oh, and a feud with the mailman."

"Regular little he-man," said Bodie, regarding the cat dubiously.

"Absolutely."

The cat's origins were as murky as his name. Doyle just called him Cat, but he responded any time there was food. If you left the window open, he'd sometimes show up at night and keep your feet warm. And with his friendly, furry face, undemanding except for milk, he was awfully nice company after a hard, disillusioning day when Doyle couldn't stand to deal with any more people. A friendly meow and a loud purr could be surprisingly welcome.

Doyle gave the cat a quick pat and nudged him lightly aside with his trainer. The cat rubbed against him, moved just enough for the fridge to be opened, then weaved around Doyle's feet and stood in front of it. It stared up at the shelves as though deciding what it wanted to eat today. There was no doubt, from its proprietary expression, that all the bounty within (as well as the rest of the establishment), belonged to Cat, though he was certainly magnanimous enough to share.

Bodie laughed. "Thinks he owns the place, does he?"

"At least he doesn't feel the need to attack visitors."

"Now be fair old son, Sunshine only did that once."

Doyle rolled his eyes. "You really need a new name for your cat."

"Well, what do you call this little fatty?" Bodie knelt down again and tried to catch the cat's attention by snapping his fingers. Cat ignored him.

"Fatty?" Doyle grabbed the milk, giving Bodie an offended glare. "He's just healthy, he is. And besides, it's all muscle. Well, mostly muscle." He poured a healthy portion of fresh milk into the cat's bowl and watched with some satisfaction as the slurping commenced. The cat always ate as though he was half starved, though anyone could see he was quite well-nourished. Not fat, however.

"Does he wake you in the morning?"

"No, he's a real lazybones. Made my feet fall asleep this morning from lying on them. Pins and needles while I stumbled to the shower," admitted Doyle. "He just drapes himself and he's dead to the world."

"Ah, well, we can't all have a furry alarm clock. Mine's a real charmer, too. Should see him with the ladies. He does this big-eyed expression, and they just melt. Call him a poor little lamb, and ask if I'm feeding him enough."

"Where does he put it?" asked Doyle ironically.

"Not like yours," said Bodie smugly.

"Oh, mine's a charmer, too, mate. Does this innocent expression—while shoving his nose into a girl's ankles—or hands—or—well, he's quite friendly, he is. Knows just how charming he looks and doesn't mind using it. I think he's a bit of a lad, really." He bent to stroke the slurping cat, and was rewarded by the thunderous, broken-engine purr.

Bodie's eyes rose. "Nice motor on him."

"Isn't there?"

"Yeah. But mine's louder."

"Oh—you..." He turned a frown on the smirking Bodie. Then he laughed. "You'd compete over anything, wouldn't you?"

"And _you_ haven't a competitive bone in your body, have you, old son?" asked Bodie, grinning. "Come on, then, save some of that milk for me. Don't let Fatty drink it all."

Doyle laughed again, suddenly, as he stepped over his cat and moved to the coffeemaker. He threw his head back and laughed.

"What? What's the joke, sunshine?" asked Bodie.

"Lord, look at us! Two big hard men, discussing our little tabby cats..."

"Oh is that all." Bodie stepped past him and opened the fridge, regarding its insides as though he owned them. He surveyed until he found something he liked, and took it out. "Why d'you keep your bread in the fridge, mate?" he asked, taking a big bite of a sandwich. "Why don't you have a breadbox, then?"

"Oh, wipe your chin," said Doyle.


End file.
